Awake, arise or be forever fall'n
by once anon a time
Summary: Clarke is held captive at Mount Weather but instead of Monty in the room opposite it's Bellamy. Non-canon - my own musings based on post S1E13. Standard disclaimer I own nothing. I am but a fan of the writer's work.
1. Chapter 1

Clarke blinked twice the harshness of the bright white light overpowering her fuzzy brain. She had no idea where she was or how she had got here. All the walls were white, the floor and the ceiling. There was one door with a small window. Clarke pushed herself to her feet groggily wondering what had happened to her; had she just been knocked out, ambushed and hit over the head or was her confused state more narcotic induced. She hoped it was the former; she knew how to deal with a concussion.

She pulled at the door handle and when it refused to open she tried pushing it. In desperation she banged her palms against the door yelling incoherently the truth dawning on her that she was a prisoner. But this was no grounder prison this was an entirely different and unknown enemy. She pressed her nose against the glass of the door peering into a white corridor. Just in view was another white door and another small rectangle of glass. As she yelled and pounded her fists to no avail she saw a face appear at the window of the other door: it was Bellamy.

A little bit of hope inside of Clarke died. If Bellamy was here too who would be looking after the camp? Who would be organising the search parties? Bellamy smiled at her, well it was more of a smirk. Clarke couldn't cope with this,it felt like her heart was beating twice its normal pace her breathing rasping and shallow. She turned her back on the window and slowly slid down the wall until she sat on the floor knees clenched against her chest head in her hands. She didn't know what to do. Ever since the dropship had landed people had been looking to her to make decisions, to lead. Maybe at first she had put herself in that position, she had chosen to lead but soon enough it was an obligation. Not one she necessarily begrudged but it wasn't something she could turn away from. But now she had no answers, no clever plan, no clue. She didn't know how to save herself. She took to sitting in the corner of the room facing the door rocking slightly and trying to sleep.

She was interrupted suddenly by the door swinging ope and a white clad man walked into the room carrying a tray of food. Clarke tried to force herself further into the corner holding her hands up to shield her face. The man laid the tray down and backed out of the room. She could hear a commotion coming from the room opposite. The man in white turned his head to look at what was happening without closing the door and Clarke felt her chance was now. She lunged forwards picking up the tin tray and wielding it like a bat she swung it as hard as she could connecting with the side of the man's head and neck. He crumpled instantly to the floor. Clarke paused momentarily to look into Bellamy's room. He was being restrained by four men in white holding him down and preparing to inject him. Bellamy caught her gaze and she could see the words form on his lips as the syringe was plunged into his neck; "Run!"

Needing not a second word Clarke turned and sprinted down the white corridor. She turned the corner finding herself in another identical white corridor, she didn't pause to consider the hopelessness of her situation lost in a labyrinth of white corridors each like the last in every conceivable way. She may never get out. The only thing Clarke would let herself do was keep running it would be the only way to escape. The next corridor lead to a t-junction. There were two choices, left of right. Clarke froze with indecision. It was only the sound of boots on the ground which forced Clarke to pick. She went right. She ran and ran and kept running her lungs burning but her brain telling her to keep going no matter what. There was no change in her surroundings endless white corridors closing in on her each one feeling like it must be the last. But it never was. Clarke wasn't sure if she was getting further away and closer to an exit or just running in an endless circle of repeating white walls. Clarke could barely breathe when she heard the ominous crescendo of boots getting closer. She had little less to give as she felt her weary muscles aching for her to stop running and she could feel her pace slowing. She allowed herself a second for a panicked glance over her shoulder, she could see them now, the men dressed in white, like the man who had brought her food but with guns aimed at her back. She didn't think they would shoot they had taken her for a reason and wanted her alive or else they could have killed her when they found her. She was wrong. She had barely turned the corner when the bullets ripped through the wall where she had just been standing. She threw herself onto the ground her hands clenched over the back of her head. Winded from the force she felt the darkness creep over her vision as the white men surrounded her. The world span around her and she wondered if she would pass out before they shot her. She wasn't much passed this thought when she succumbed to unconsciousness and it was over.

Waking slightly without opening her eyes Clarke was surprised she was alive and apart from a thumping headache and sore muscles she appeared uninjured. She stirred slightly trying to move her limbs and found herself unbound. Eventually she decided to try to open her eyes. They fought back at first but after a few flutters she managed to open them fully. She was lying on her back, this room was dark, unlike the others. There was a dim lightbulb flickering above her swaying slightly on its chain. Clarke was in the middle of considering if she had the strength to sit up when she heard the rustle of someone else in the room. She froze instantly.

"You alright princess?"

She sat bolt upright sending a sharp pain through her head like her brain had collided with the front of her skull.

"Bellamy?"

"Guess you didn't make it out then?"

Clarke shook her head, half in surprise and half in answer to his question.

"It's like some sort of maze of identical corridors. I ran for ages and still didn't get anywhere."

Bellamy let out a chuckle wincing as he did so. Looking at him properly Clarke could see he was hurt. He was sat propped up against a wall his legs straight in front of him. He had scratches and bruises covering his face and dried blood covering the side of his head, hair, ear and neck. Clarke scrambled to her feet and ran to Bellamy's side. He flinched at her touch as she tried to see where the cut was.

"Careful, princess."

He coughed his words out.

"Sshh... don't try and speak just let me look at you."

Bellamy flinched again.

"Stop moving Bellamy! I'm trying to help, do you want this to get infected?"

Bellamy shrugged and Clarke ignored him. Parting his hair carefully trying to avoid wearing it was matted with blood. Clarke ran her hands over his head trying to feel for the cut, there was so much blood she couldn't see a thing. Bellamy tensed at her touch. Clarke sighed chewing on the inside of her cheek. Bellamy was a bad patient, he thought was too strong to need help. He'd rather sit in pain and suffer than let her help him. She saw the muscle tighten at the bottom of his jaw as he gritted his teeth not wanting to let her know how much pain he was in.

She found the cut, it wasn't too deep, it probably didn't need stitches. She glanced around grabbing a canteen of water and gently poured it into the wound hoping to keep it relatively clean. Bellamy exhaled sharply but neither moved nor spoke. His fists were clenched into fists by his side but he refused to meet her eyes. She made quick work of checking his various other cuts and bruises which were all superficial. She used some of the water and cleaned some of the blood away from his face gently wiping his face bracing herself with her other hand on his shoulder. He winced even more when she stood up. His hand shot to his abdomen.

"Bellamy what's wrong?"

"It's nothing, Princess, you don't have to worry about me."

Clarke sighed in exasperation and muttered "Of course I do."

She reached over and pressed his stomach to which Bellamy recoiled. Clarke knelt down on the floor next to Bellamy who's eyes were now closed and his breathing regulated. Clarke could tell he was in a lot of pain he just didn't want her to know. He was so stupid.

Clarke reached forward tentatively and gripped the hem of his shirt lifting it cautiously to reveal his abdomen. Bellamy laughed.

"If you wanted me to take my clothes off Clarke all you had to do was ask. I didn't think you saw me that way."

A smirk replaced the grimace for a few seconds and Clarke shook her head. She was too distracted by the mottled purple bruise spreading from around his side onto his stomach. She scrunched his shirt up anchoring it up so she could examine him properly. She tried lightly placing his fingertips on the skin but Bellamy recoiled again clearly pained by her touch.

"How bad is it, Princess?"

This time he wasn't joking or teasing his voice trembled slightly despite all his self-control. He was worried and that only served to scare her more. He'd dropped the facade and revealed his weakness. Like in that moment when they were sat against the tree he was vulnerable, he was scared, he was like the rest of them. She couldn't help herself from seeing Bellamy as more than that. He was the real leader to her, the one who held the 100 in his influence. He was older than most of them and despite how much she hated him most of the time she had come to rely on him and he was nothing if not reliable and steadfast. But Bellamy was human just like the rest of them and he could feel pain and he could die. The bleeding was under the surface; there was no obvious penetrating trauma. It was most likely caused by a beating. It was quite a large area possibly suggesting a large bleed. There were only two options for this kind of injury, either the bleeding stopped on its own or he would need surgery. There was no surgery on the ground so either the bleeding stopped or he would die. There was nothing she could do to help him; she was powerless. Just the thought of Bellamy dying was too much for Clarke. After everything they had been through she knew she needed him, she hadn't lied when she'd told him that she was sure of it. It was odd, how it had crept up on her and taken hold. She couldn't pin point the moment that she had realised that she didn't really hate this man but she needed him. They had lost a lot of people, they had buried people but she didn't think she could bury him. They rarely agreed and often shouted and sometimes she found him the most arrogant, annoying and condescending person she had ever met but he was the right person for the job. It was a job she couldn't do alone. The 100 would not survive if Bellamy didn't. She was strong, Clarke was proud of that, she would survive that much was true. But a piece of her would die along with him. She breathed deeply trying not to let him see the tears that were in her eyes.

"It's not that bad Bellamy, you just need to man up, I've had worse."

She smiled in what she hoped was a convincing manner and whether he believed her or chose not to challenge her Bellamy smiled and nodded closing his eyes and resting his head back against the wall. Clarke sat next to him and leant back against the wall. Now it was just a matter of waiting.

Bellamy's breathing was laboured and rasping and each time he coughed wincing with the pain it caused him Clarke held her breath and made a silent prayer to a God she wasn't sure she believed in. Spare him, she begged, save him. They were a good team, they were a balance, he was the heart and soul of the camp she was the brains. She knew they called them mom and dad behind their backs. If he could just make it a few more hours he might be out of the woods.

Clarke felt a sudden wave of exhaustion hit her and drag her under. She wanted to keep watch on Bellamy but he eyes were already betraying her. She was on the cusp of sleep when she felt Bellamy's hand move around hers interlocking their fingers.


	2. Chapter 2

**Bellamy**

Bellamy was the first to wake fluttering open his eyes onto the dank light of the single bulb barely filling the room. There was a constant throbbing pain in his side and he struggled to catch his breath. Clarke's hand was still in his her warm fingers curled around his. He wasn't sure why he'd taken her hand. It was a reflex more than anything else.

He knew she was scared, hell, he was scared. He knew the guard's steel capped boot had done some damage when it had been kicked into his side as he laid curled defenceless on the floor. That's when he knew he was beaten. He couldn't take on that many of them, one had been easy, two even but they just kept coming and they hadn't been particularly forgiving. It was Clarke's face when she first saw the blood pooled under his skin that told him the true extent of his injuries. It was the fear in her eyes and not her fake reassurances that what his prospects were. She was trying to be strong for him. That was typical of Clarke. She was the one person who had seen him at his most vulnerable and she was the one person he knew he could lean on if he was weak. He had so many people he had to support it sometimes felt like he had to hide his weakness. But he had doubts, he had fears, he had insecurities. He knew he came across as self-assured, arrogant even. It was an image he cultivated. Nobody wanted a fallible leader. But he didn't always know the right thing to do, maybe sometimes it was his first instinct to fight; to be the aggressor. That's why Clarke and him worked. This co-leader deal they had really did seem to be good for the camp. Maybe precisely because she was so different from him. She had a cool head in a crisis and wasn't afraid to disagree with him. She wasn't afraid to tell them to run.

He listened to her even if he didn't always agree. She wasn't afraid of making a hard decision but she didn't make light of them either. She carried the full weight of leadership like a burden across her shoulders. The memories of the mistakes, the failures, the people they couldn't save haunted her. She had changed since they'd come to the ground. She wasn't a little girl anymore, not in his eyes, she wasn't much of a princess either. There was no privilege on the ground.

Looking down at her sleeping face Bellamy couldn't help but wonder how she'd lead after he was gone. She'd get over his death, his ego wasn't so swollen, but would she need another him, another partner. He was replaceable just the brute force. She'd be okay.

Her eyelashes fluttered for a moment and he was struck by how young she looked. In her sleep you couldn't see the shadow of pain in her eyes. But he knew it was there. He knew Clarke well enough that he saw her pain.

He knew she lied when she said it wasn't that bad. It was bad and there was a fair chance he wouldn't be making it back. He wished it had been quick. He wasn't comfortable with the time he had to think of his death. He'd have rather'd an arrow to the heart. Quick, maybe even painless. That might be cowardly, he wasn't really sure. It was certainly more of a hero's death than this. Not that Bellamy considered himself a hero. But this, this lingering, slow painful erosion of his life. It wouldn't have been what he would've chosen.

He didn't want to sit around and think about the implications of his rapidly approaching death. It was too macabre for his liking. So it suited him fine to play along with Clarke's charade and pretend he was going to be fine. The fundamental truth remained that he was human and he failed.


End file.
